


The Dark Night

by dakeyras



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, Paris (City), Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25490083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dakeyras/pseuds/dakeyras
Summary: Some old friends meet in a Parisian cafe and discuss the ways they've saved the world.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51
Collections: Good Omens, Marvel





	The Dark Night

On a dark and stormy Parisian night, evil was afoot. Well, evil was behind the wheel, if you care about technicalities. Evil was _much_ too important to walk anywhere.

Said wheel, attached to a glorious Bentley that was almost as black as the sky, tore around the corner and screeched to a stop in front of a small cafe. It was the kind of cafe that doesn't have prices on the menus. If you have to ask how much something is, it seemed to say, you shouldn't be eating here. Out of the Bentley hopped a tall figure with red hair and, despite the heavy rain, a pair of sunglasses.

"Reservation for seven o'clock, under the name of Crowley," growled the demon in flawless French. The rain swirled around him, but the few drops brave enough to land on him immediately sizzled and evaporated.

"But it is only five o'clock, sir." The maitre d' checked his list. "Unfortunately we are fully booked until seven, so you will have to come back later."

Crowley snapped his fingers. "Check again."

"Ah, it appears sir is in luck. We do have one table free if you would care to wait inside. Terrible weather today, isn't it?"

"Positively hellish," grinned the demon. In fact, the last time he'd experienced weather this bad was- he cut off his train of thought. Armageddon was six months ago, but Crowley still sometimes got cold shivers just thinking about how insanely dangerous it had been.

"Just over here, sir. I will leave you to peruse the menu a while."

Crowley slouched into a chair at the tiny two-person table. "Fucking time zones, I can never remember which way round they go!"

"Try coming from another world entirely."

Behind Crowley, another not-quite-man slowly turned in his chair to reveal a grinning face perched over enough black leather to clothe an entire goth disco. His raven hair shimmered in a way that spoke of either magic, or four hours a day with a _really_ good hairdresser.

"Loki, how the devil have you been?" Crowley greeted him. "It feels like years."

"It's _been_ years. I've been alright. Saved the world a few times. You're welcome, by the way." Loki somehow always managed to sound like he'd just told a joke, and you were the only one who hadn't gotten it.

"I've saved the world as well, actually," Crowley replied. "You're welcome too."

"I'd heard you were fraternising with the enemy." Loki's smile grew wider.

"It's better than being imprisoned by them, I've found." Crowley grinned back, showing subtly pointed teeth.

"Ouch, low blow." Loki mimed getting stabbed in the belly. "Try the pastry selection here, it's wonderfully flaky."

"Really? I don't like them as much as I used to. The pastry chef eighty years ago was much better." Crowley gestured at the nearest waiter, who brought over the dish he was carrying. The demon took a bite, frowned and waved him away again, shouting after him. "Bring me a cup of your blackest coffee."

"So you saved the world. You _personally_ saved the world. That's a story I'm going to have to hear," Loki said.

"Well, I've got time to waste, so sure," Crowley said. He'd missed the god of mischief. "So it all starts with this convent of satanic nuns..."

Crowley had just reached a really good bit, full of thrilling heroics and daring misdeeds (all done by him, naturally) when the last person he wanted to see walked into the room.

"Oh hello, Crowley, it's not like you to be early! Timezones again?" Aziraphale asked sympathetically. "Very pleased to meet you, by the way," he introduced himself to Loki, offering his hand. "I'm Aziraphale, a friend of Crowley's."

Loki stared at him.

"Just shake his hand, it's easier than arguing about it," Crowley advised. Very gingerly, Loki reached out and did just that.

"Are you the Aziraphale from the _fascinating_ story Crowley's telling about how he single-handedly saved the world?" Loki asked.

"Yes, I suppose I- wait a moment. _Single-handedly?_ " Aziraphale said. "Just what exactly have you been telling him, Crowley?"

"The truth. Well, mostly," the demon said. He knew Loki's blessed grin was back. Why oh why did Aziraphale have to get involved in a conversation with the god of mischief, of all people?

"He was just telling me about how he tracked down an ancient and lost book of prophecies."

"That was me!" the angel said. "I found the book, he just picked it up after I was discorporated."

"It was an ancient book of prophecies, wasn't it? And when you discorporated, did it not count as lost? Really, you do like to nitpick about minor details. You'll just end up confusing poor Loki."

"This is Loki? Look, Crowley, I may have turned a blind eye about some of your… misdeeds… in the past, but we are absolutely and categorically forbidden from meeting with any old gods," Aziraphale lectured.

"Who are you calling old?" Loki shouted.

"Relax, both of you. This isn't a meeting, angel, it's more of a… casual chat between old acquaintances."

"I'm not old!" Loki complained. "On to more important matters, though. Crowley also told me about a convent of satanic nuns that turned into a paintball center. That's got to be a lie as well, right?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "No, that one's true, actually."

The waiter brought Crowley's coffee over.

"I'd like a latte macchiato with the merest smidge of sugar." Aziraphale patted the belly of his waistcoat. "I'm trying to be good. And also bring a sharing platter of pastries, please. They're absolutely divine."

"Can we be a little more careful with words like that?" Crowley asked.

"Anyway, let me tell you about how _I_ saved the world," Loki began. "It all started with that unpleasantness in New York a few years back."

"Which unpleasantness was that?" Aziraphale asked. "There have been quite a lot, lately. I would have expected Armageddon to be there too, except for the fact that God is English."

Loki gaped like a fish, then prepared to challenge the claim.

"Just let it go," Crowley advised. "He really believes it and you won't change his mind."

Loki closed his mouth, then opened it again. "It was the one with aliens coming through a portal over Stark tower. Admittedly, I did have a little bit to do with that."

"Since I haven't had a chance before now, I've got to ask," Aziraphale interrupted. "How do you get your hair to look like that?"

Loki smirked. "It just grows like this. I _am_ a god, you know? That comes with a couple of perks."

"It's lovely. It almost makes me wish _I_ was a- oh dear, what am I saying?" Aziraphale shuddered. "I just almost committed blasphemy!"

"Isn't that more like heresy?" Crowley asked.

Loki shrugged. "Neither of them is something an angel should be doing, I suppose. Anyway, back to my very interesting story."

"Oh, your _interesting_ story? Don't you want to finish the one you've already started first?" Crowley asked, then ducked the croissant that Loki threw at his head.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I was ever-so-slightly involved in the alien invasion."

"That means he organised the whole thing," Crowley whispered to Aziraphale.

"Oh goodness me," Aziraphale said.

"After it failed, due to factors outside my control, and definitely not because of any mistakes I made," Loki trailed off. "Where was I? Ah yes, I regrouped with the rest of my army – that's right, I had my own army – and then managed to find out some very important information regarding my background."

"That's not the version I've heard," Crowley grumbled. "I can't believe you were so mistrustful of my story when you're stretching the truth so far."

"Never let truth get in the way of a good story, I always say." Loki flicked his hair back. "Besides, I'm basically the patron god of storytellers, or I should be anyway."

"Go on," Aziraphale urged. "I want to know what happened next."

"It's always nice to have an appreciative audience. So I found out that my adoptive mother had been killed, and my brother and I went after the killer, who also happened to be trying to destroy the world."

Crowley tuned out the (wildly inaccurate) details of Loki's brilliant plan, which boiled down to 'betray everyone as per usual, except this time it was a double-cross'. He waved at the waiter and ordered another cup of coffee before he'd finished the first, enjoying the deep and subtle flavours of the beans.

Aziraphale was the perfect conversational partner anyway, looking suitably entranced by the tale. He was even making 'ooh's and 'aah's at the right places. Crowley kicked him in the leg.

"None of this is even true, so you don't need to seem so impressed," he hissed.

"Are you a little jealous?" Aziraphale whispered back. "Wow, you actually are, aren't you!"

"Jealous of what? A wholly fictional tale of saving the world by a god who's tried to destroy it?"

"My my, Crowley. You're sounding almost as bitter as your coffee," Loki chuckled.

Aziraphale looked over at Loki's drink for the first time. "Did you really order _tea_ in _France?_ "

"Angel, do you remember when I was trying to get my hands on some holy water? I bumped into Loki near a small church in Sweden."

"Please don't tell this story again," Loki said, a pained expression on his face.

Crowley kept talking as though he hadn't heard. "We were both in this grotty little bar, drinking like our lives depended on it. I was seeing if I could empty the barrel of lager they had on tap – Sweden has great beer, but the wine is like piss mixed with vinegar. And do you want to tell Aziraphale what you were drinking, Loki?"

"It was a long time ago, and honestly, I'm a Viking god. Surely I should be allowed to drink whatever I want in Viking country?" Loki said.

"You're a Norse god, actually," Aziraphale corrected. Loki stuck his tongue out at him.

"What were you drinking?" Crowley repeated.

"You're really going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"That's right."

"Fine. It was cider with a bit of whisky and a dash of mustard added." Loki folded his arms.

Aziraphale almost fell out of his chair. "But why on earth – or heaven or hell, for that matter – would you willingly drink that? Did you lose a bet?"

"I was in a bad place, alright? Besides, Crowley won't want me telling you what happened later that night."

Crowley looked like a deer in headlights. "I don't think that's necessary, really."

Loki smirked. "Well I do."

"Don't you have any mischief to be up to elsewhere?" Crowley asked. "You know, since you're usually so busy."

"I have time enough for this, before I go," Loki said. "Now, where was I? So Crowley manages to finish his keg..."

"It was a small keg," Crowley muttered to Aziraphale. "Hardly a keg at all, really."

"I'm sure you're right," Aziraphale replied. "It's not like you to go drinking, now is it?"

"Anyway!" Loki said. "He finishes his keg, and decides that tonight's the night he'll get his holy water. Obviously he can't just walk into a church to take it. He's a demon, after all. But he thinks he's just come up with a foolproof plan. So he packs an empty flask and decides to test out his brilliant idea of, wait for it, wearing _wellies_. Wellies full of dirt."

Aziraphale turned to stare at Crowley incredulously.

"The theory was sound!" the demon defended himself. "I had another pair of shoes on inside the _rubber_ _boots_ ," he emphasised the phrase, "so I was technically not standing on consecrated ground."

"Did you really think that God would let you get away with a loophole like that?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. "I figured it was worth a try. Besides, I forgot to sober myself up before I thought of my brilliant plan. Or before I carried it out, for that matter."

Loki was still gloating. "So he wanders over to the church, steps across the threshold, and he's completely fine! The floor doesn't burn his feet, the air doesn't freeze his lungs, and so on. Crowley's so happy he doesn't even realise I've followed him, and I'm almost collapsing from laughter."

"I can't believe that works!" Aziraphale marvelled.

"It doesn't," Crowley replied.

Loki smiled so broadly that it must have been getting painful by now. "So Crowley can't find the font of holy water. He doesn't realise he's not in a church, but he finds a tap and a hose, and he points the hose at his flask."

"Wait a moment," the angel said. "If Crowley wasn't in a church, then where was he?"

Loki tapped his chin, pretending to think. "You know, it's an easy mistake to make. Churches have spires, and fire stations have towers for drying their hoses out. In the dark, they basically look the same, don't they?"

"It was snowing as well," Crowley defended himself. "And they were kind of near each other."

"So our dear Crowley turns the tap, and blasts himself with enough water to drown a small village. And because he's so surprised, he loses control of the hose. It's got enough water rushing through it that it's leaping around like a wild animal, and he can't get to the tap to turn it off again."

"As I recall, I wasn't the only one who was soaked," Crowley said, frowning. "What was it you did again when the water hit you? I seem to recall a fair bit of blubbering." He mimed trying to talk with a mouthful of water.

"Oh dear, were you both alright?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. "We're here now, aren't we?"

"And that's my cue to leave, I'm afraid," Loki said. "Lots to do. You know how it is, or at least you used to, I suppose." And with that, he snatched up his coat and was out of the door in two long strides.

"He's not one for long goodbyes," Crowley remarked. "He makes up for it by leaving me to pick up the tab. Sometimes I think he would have made an excellent demon."

"But you don't pay your tab," Aziraphale said. "Ever." He sounded mildly reproving, as he always did when the issue came up.

"Well, when it's been going on this long, it's practically tradition." Crowley snapped his fingers at the waiter. "We've already paid!" he called out in French.

"I really wish you wouldn't do that," Aziraphale tutted.

Crowley frowned and dropped a handful of notes on an empty patch of the table. "You must be rubbing off on me, angel. There was a time I'd have burned this place down rather than pay a bill."

"I remember. You demolished my favourite Catalonian bistro back in 1648. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Pssh, they had it coming. The swill they were trying to pass off as paella, it was shocking, really."

And they wandered back out into the storm, bickering all the while.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this knocking around on my hard drive for a while. I don't have plans at the moment to add any more chapters, but never say never, I guess.


End file.
